


Misery Loves Company

by tielan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Caretaking, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:39:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tielan/pseuds/tielan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't do sick too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misery Loves Company

**Author's Note:**

> I seem to be in this frenzied rush to get as many things finished before Cap3 (and my health issues) leave me dead in the water. In the meantime, enjoy the fic. (And consider writing some of your own.)
> 
> Anon request on Tumblr: ♞: _Caring for each other while ill, for CapHill._

The cramps take Maria on the stairs as she’s coming down from the bar level. They take her just as the elevator doors ding to indicate someone arriving. She looks up to see who it is, misses a step and only just manages to catch the handrail. She gains a moment to steady herself, then loses it as her shoe heel catches on the stair tread and her grip slips from the rail, and she’s going to have an ignominious fall right in front of some Stark Industries bigwig—

An arm comes around her back, catching her as she stumbles and hoisting her up against a warm, well-muscled chest. An easy tenor asks, “You okay?” in her ear. And Maria stares up into the blue eyes of Steve Rogers, bemused by the fact that his lashes are ridiculously long and perfectly curved, and that she’s apparently chosen this _exact_ moment to notice—

“Uh,” she says, most eloquently. And gasps as the cramps squeeze again. Her palm presses into his back as she tries to right herself in the midst of the pain – she can’t afford to look weak – certainly not in front of—

He scoops her up as her legs buckle, the first and only concern the pain in her abdomen. “JARVIS, program the elevator for Ms. Hill’s apartment—”

_Oh, God, no._

“Couch,” she manages through clenched teeth.

“Are you sure? You look pretty peaky.”

“Just the couch, Rogers.”

She may not be heavy, but she might as well be a rag doll for all the effort it takes him to carry her over to the lounge where he sets her down on the cushions. “JARVIS, is Banner—”

Maria interrupts him before he can get any further. “No.”

“You’re clearly not well—”

“It’ll pass.” When he gives her a skeptical look, she breathes through the easing cramps and tells him, “It has every month so far.”

“Every month—” He stops. Blinks. “Every _month_?”

“It’s not usually this bad.” She’s been mostly lucky with cramps - a few twinges every now and then, but otherwise…

His expression is shocked, and even through the pain, the urge to laugh rises. He wouldn’t know anything about menstrual cramps, being a man, and single. Even working with Natasha wouldn’t give him any education in that area. And perhaps it’s a little cruel of her to be amused at his embarrassment, but it’s also difficult to resist.

Her breath hisses out as another wave of cramps claws into her.

Rogers starts to his feet. “I’m getting Dr. Banner.”

“No.” She puts enough force in it to stop him. “Medication. In my purse in my office.” She knew her period was due, she just didn’t think the cramp would be this sudden – or this bad.

“All right.” He gets up. “Can I get you anything else on the way?”

Maria takes a deep and careful breath. “Just medication.”

Of course, when he comes back, he hasn’t just brought the medication, or even the medication and her purse. “JARVIS said you usually took a chamomile tea when these things hit,” he says, setting the tray down. “He put an order in to your aide, and she’ll screen your calls.”

She stares at the tray, managing a short laugh. “Gina didn’t do all that, though.”

Besides her purse and the tea are a hot-water bottle in a tea towel, two bottles of water, a packet of choc-chip cookies, and two slices of raspberrry sponge cake.

Steve hands her her purse, and skits down beside the tray, careful not to tip it over. “I was brought up by a single working mom,” he reminds her as he picks up one of the bottles of water, loosens the lid, and waits for her to pull out her medication before handing her the water. “I know a thing or two.”

“So I see.”

Sometimes it’s easy to forget. He _makes_ it easy to forget.

Maria tosses back the pills and drinks the water to swallow, telling herself it’s okay. Most people don’t come through this section of the tower, so the only issue she has left to deal with is JARVIS – and thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D and Coulson, she knows how to get around him.

It’s just…awkward.

But when she lowers the bottle, Steve is dunking a teabag in a mug and watching her, thoughtfully. “What?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t told me to scram.”

“I’m considering it.” She decides it’s best to be honest with him in this. And, perhaps, a _little_ playful. “But you brought me cake.”

His grin is swift and sure, and – somewhat unexpectedly – bottoms out Maria’s gut. She covers the unexpected lurch by asking him to hand her the tea, her slice of cake, and the first cookie from the bag.

Is it weird to have Captain America playing nursemaid? Yes, it’s weird. However, by the time the medication kicks in, Maria’s almost reconciled herself to his concern.

* * *

 

It’s been years since Steve felt this miserable.

At least this time is temporary – so old Doc Russo said. _Your body will heal. I don’t think it knows how to do anything other than heal because there was just about enough of you left to fit in a carry-on, and it was the most horrifying thing I’d ever seen. You’re lucky Dr. Cho had the proto-cradle still available and was willing to release it to me._

However, it’s utterly humiliating to discover that after the effort of walking down the street to her apartment, he can’t even make it from Maria’s couch to her spare bedroom down the hall. Talk about ignominious.

“I’d really appreciate it,” she says as she crouches down to duck under his arm and help him up, “if you didn’t expire in my hallway, Steve.”

“Just taking a breather.” Except that he hasn’t had to take a ‘breather’ like this in years. He’d almost forgotten just how much effort the act of filling his lungs with air could be.

They take one step and stagger. Steve puts out one hand to try to hold himself up, and finds himself wedged between the wall and a woman whose voice conveys the depth of her disgruntlement as she demands, “What the fuck was Russo thinking?”

“I wanted out.”

She’s the only woman Steve has ever known who can make a growl expressive – possibly because none of the others ever let their frustration with him show like this. Only Maria let the polite screen down, made it quite clear where he stood in her opinion, and exactly what she thought of his actions. Which she does now, in no uncertain terminology. “Willful, self-sacrificing _idiots_ who don’t know how to stop and let go—”

Laughing is a bad idea – it hurts his lungs and takes up air he desperately needs to stop seeing spots in front of his eyes – but he can’t help it. Only Maria would chastise him at this moment, in this situation. Only Maria wouldn’t spare his feelings or his strength.

“If you’re finished being amused?” Maria indicates the rest of the hallway – a bare two metres – and the open door into the spare room.

Steve sobers, takes a deep breath, eases himself off the wall. They make it to the bed, and get him seated on the edge of the mattress. But he’s still got his boots on, and when he starts to lean over to untie his laces, Maria pushes him back. “I’ll do it. You’ll just overbalance and end up on the floor.”

She yanks his laces loose with neat, precise movements, her hand grips his ankle as she pulls off first the right, then the left boot. And her fingers neatly slip under the hems of his jeans to find the tops of his socks and pull them off, before tucking them into the boots and lining them up by the bed, military-neat.

And he sits there and watches her, brisk as any nurse, with rather less bedside manner, and wonders at the changes in her – she’s sharper, more honed. And he wonders at the warmth of her fingers against his so-cold skin, and thinks about curling into that warmth—

“Rogers?”

He shivers, and unwraps the arm he unthinkingly slid around her waist as she stood. “I...Sorry.” He looks up into the changing sea of her gaze, and swallows. “I didn’t think. I just—”

The shiver wracks him again, and then her hands are on his face, cupping his jaw, thumbs up against his cheekbones. “Rogers. Fuck. _Rogers_!”

Dizziness takes him; he puts his hands up to stop it, and finds it full of warm waist. There’s a moment when the world tilts before it stops, and it takes Steve a moment to realise he’s resting his forehead against her breastbone – and he doesn’t want to move.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against her stomach.

The huff of her laugh makes him risk looking up at her. Her expression is disbelieving, but her mouth has a curve at the corners that gives him a little hope. “Seriously?”

He manages a smile. “Is it so hard to believe?”

Another snort. “Unexpected, maybe.” Then Maria freezes as he moves one hand along her side, ruching the shirt just a little, not even touching her skin. “All right. You need to lie down.”

“Lie with me?”

It sounded better in his head – a warm body, someone to curl up against, the comfort of human touch. But now that the words are out, he’s not so sure he doesn’t mean them the other way, too. Although obviously not while he’s as weak as a kitten and recovering in her guest bedroom.

“Uh,” he manages. “I didn’t mean—I mean, I did, but—” And now is not the time to turn coward. Steve looks her in the eye. “You don’t have to.”

Maria stares at him for a long moment, her ears pink. Then she sighs and shakes her head, and leans over to pull the sheet up in silent encouragement for him to lie down. Steve does as she indicates, wincing a little as she settles the sheet over him with a carefully expressionless face before going over to the wardrobe in the corner. He’s messed it up with his invitation – _way to go, Rogers_ – and a bare apology seems somehow inadequate—

Then she turns back with an old patchwork quilt in her hands and a sigh. “This is _such_ a bad idea.”

“You don’t have to—” But he swallows his protest as she toes off her shoes. This is Maria. She makes her own choices.

She throws the quilt over him, lets him arrange it as she climbs in beside him, and touches him on the chin – one finger to hold him in place so their eyes meet. “I want this.”

And something loosens in his chest as she settles down against him – as they relax into each other, his arm curling over her spine, hers thrown over his chest, and the beat of their hearts drumming them quietly into sleep.


End file.
